Page:Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1918.djvu/48

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Now Carisbrook keep goes under in gloom;

Now it overvaults Appledurcombe;

Now near by Ventnor town

It hurls, hurls off Boniface Down.

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Too proud, too proud, what a press she bore!

Royal, and all her royals wore.

Sharp with her, shorten sail!

Too late; lost; gone with the gale.

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This was that fell capsize,

As half she had righted and hoped to rise

Death teeming in by her portholes

Raced down decks, round messes of mortals.

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Then a lurch forward, frigate and men;

'All hands for themselves' the cry ran then;

But she who had housed them thither

Was around them, bound them or wound them with her.

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Marcus Hare, high her captain,

Kept to her—care-drowned and wrapped in

Cheer's death, would follow

His charge through the champ-white water-in-a-wallow.

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All under Channel to bury in a beach her

Cheeks: Right, rude of feature,

He thought he heard say

'Her commander! and thou too, and thou this way.'